Being so horny I can’t think straight

Part of the healing process of a male-to-female sex change, a big part, lies in the physical pleasure of the axis of vulva-vagina-clitoris.  Just a decade or so ago, when speaking of trans surgery, the idea that we might be fully functioning from a sexual standpoint, was really hit-or-miss—it was all about the plumbing and the patriarchy (can she pee, and can she have receptive sex, ie. with a man).

Thankfully this has changed.

In truth, my libido had been low before surgery for obvious reasons—my changing hormone levels saw to that…but so did my appetite for sexy fun plummet after surgery.  But it started to come back at about the same time that I was allowed to start getting out of bed.

I began going on dates.  One woman wanted to send me back to the doctor to ask if it was safe to play with my vagina.  She had plans.

Another woman didn’t ask, and pushed her way into the public restroom, and pinned me against the wall with a forearm to my neck before snogging me hard.  She loved teasing me and turning me on even if she knew I wasn’t ready for a fxxking.

And there was my Hitachi wand, languishing, lonely, in my closet, waiting for the return of joy.

My doctor was very explicit, “I want you to masturbate every time you dilate.  It is time to turn that from a pain and a chore into a highlight of the day.”  Their words continue to resonate inside me on so many levels.  First, ‘yes Mistress.’  Second, all my castration fantasies and ultimate submission fantasies are bound up with this doctor who cut my balls off and turned me into a girl.  I am living proof of the joys of sissy porn!  This is the dream, and I am living in it.

In other words, a doctor who I already considered super hot has now, apart from touching my clit to show me where it is and telling me to play with myself, has taken up residence in my sexual psyche by commanding me to play with myself during dilation sessions.

A few weeks ago I went overboard, literally fxxking myself raw.  I vowed to be careful and to allow myself to recover, which created a bit of an issue with my dilation schedule…but it really hurt for a while.  My doctor did say, “don’t go overboard.  Be gentle”

But along with this change has been a change to my fantasy life, my horniness.  I am on very high doses of female sex hormones, oestrogen and progesterone, with an inspiring and talented endocrinologist.  My levels are literally like a cis teen girl, and along with that comes a level of horniness that I haven’t felt since I was teen boy, only this feels very different.

I have a very dirty mind.  I always did, but my dirty mind is sparked by so many different things, whereas it used to be kind of mono-track.  For example, I just loved thinking about being forcibly put back in diapers as a teen.  The words, “babies wear diapers, and you’re wearing diapers, so you must be a baby.  So then I will treat you like one,” was like the most powerful aphrodisiac.  It still is, but so are a million other things…what is different is that suddenly, pretty much anything can trigger a thought pattern that leads to turn-on, but also, I am really easily distracted, or can get onto another track.  As a male-brained person, there were so many fewer things, and I always went back to the same ones, and could stay with them for hours, days even.

One thing that didn’t turn me on before and really does now is male chastity.  What gives?  Here I am post-op, and I fantasise about having my cxxk caged, only I don’t have one anymore, and that is suddenly the most extreme form of chastity.  And it really turns me on.

I hate humiliation, I always have, but now, cuckolding, being cuckolded is so freaking sexy to me.  I am not a man, of course I cannot satisfy a woman as a man, of course I have to be her slave.  And of course both he and she will welcome me in a subservient posture in their lives because I am not a man…

And I can really get lost in that fantasy sequence in a million ways.  I’ve been reading cuckold porn, chastity porn, porn where men dominate men and turn them into ckksucking sissies, and I am getting so utterly aroused by it.

I read a story the other day where this guy gets tricked and then blackmailed into becoming the sex slave of his male neighbour.  He is married, and finally, the neighbour makes him bring his wife…and she ends up serving this man too.  But what happens between husband and wife was gut-wrenchingly hot to me…that she caged him and put him in permanent chastity, and said that since he was no longer a real man, that she would utterly control him and that he could either leave or become her total slave.  

I read all this stuff, including stories I have written, and new ones, as I dilate, as I seek the ever-elusive big ‘O’, my first clitoral orgasm.  I am not there yet.  I may not even be close.  But boy oh boy does it feel good.  And being aroused, feeling my pussy lips swell and feeling that tightness between my legs and up until my belly, just drives me wild.  

I’ve been at the beach in Europe, and there is something about the heat, and a too hot house that never fails to turn me on.  I associate it with the awakening of my childhood sexuality.  My grandparents had an enormous beach house, and one of the bedrooms that I was often given was also the bedroom where the crib was.  There was a cabinet in that room which held boxes of diapers, baby powder, creams, and that cabinet smelled of that magical baby perfume smell mixed with mothballs.  Over time, that smell has come to produce instant and powerful arousal.

But back then, on a too-hot summer day, in a time before air-conditioning was ubiquitous, in the still, heavy air, I finally mustered up the courage to take my shorts down, lie down on the bed with a pilfered diaper, and feel the earth-shattering power of pulling it up between my legs and taping it into place.

I was terrified of being caught, a real risk in a house full of people, and only ever allowed myself a few minutes before I would take it off and hide it, only to use it again for a few seconds on another day.  Oh how I wished for that to be real, to be made a baby again.

But that association got transferred to being in a too-hot room, with still air, skin sticky from sea water, and feeling slightly burned.  Going to the beach is highly arousing for me.  And in these past days, feeling my bikini ready body slice through the water, loving my tan, revelling in the woman I have become, I was just turned on all the time.

It is hard to describe the euphoria that I feel when I look in the mirror at my crotch in a bikini, and not seeing any bulge there.  It is a feeling that I waited my whole life for.  And my kitty is becoming prettier by the day.  And now, she has also become an instrument of the most intense pleasure.

I have gone from dreading dilation and the time hole it represents, to spending hours on end with my hard plastic dildos.  For the past week I would start my final session of the day after turning in for the night, ‘goodnight everybody’ and would find that I was still awake at 3:00 am, still trying to push myself over the edge.

I used to do something similar for days on end, but in that case, I knew how easy it was to cum when I was ready…walking around with a butt plug inserted, sitting at my desk with a butt plug inserted and writing racy stories…I could do that for days, barely stopping to eat, knowing that I was so clean inside from a colonic, that there was no danger of messing myself, and I just edged and edged and edged, cranking out the kinky stories.

That feeling is similar to this and has come back.  Only after a few days of that, I would cum, my mind would clear, and I could go back to my vanilla life as if nothing had happened.  But that isn’t happening now.

Instead, I am just getting hornier and hornier, and it has more than crept into my daily life.  For one, I walk around in public in less and less.  Okay, it is the beach, but walking through the streets of town in just a skimpy bikini and not putting on my t-short, or my wrap, or shorts, and wanting everyone to see my sexy body, to see that I have a vulva not a dick, to see my breasts.  

And men and women notice, and I wiggle as I walk to make sure.  I am discovering my body and the clothes I wear as a sexual being, much like a teen girl awakens, and finds her sexual power.  And I feel this, and I am learning it.

My existence as a female sexual being is developing.  It is not for the male gaze, but I do feel it, and do welcome it sometimes, because it is affirming, but mostly, knowing that I have female sexual power is what is appealing to me.

I went to an art gallery with friends.  They knew the gallery owner, a young woman.  Attractive.  She saw me as a potential client.  I just felt her energy and it just kind of crept up on me, until being around her was like whimpering with desire.  She peeled me off from the others, from my kids, and flirted with me.  She invited me to her hotel room to relax, to change, to use as a base.  She invited me to swim with her.

In the water, conversation flowed and flowed, and it was only after we had been in for quite a while that I realised that I was kneeling on the sea floor and that she was standing in front of me the entire time, with her breasts just above my eyes, and that she was looking down at me.  And I was so affected by her.

Later,, and the next days, I couldn’t resist the flurry of text messages, and eventually agreed to meet her for a drink for a private showing.  In the meantime I was reading porn as I dilated and trying to get off, cuckold porn, gay male porn, lesbian porn…but when I finally gave up the quest, turned out the lights, and just surrendered to pleasure, she was what came into my mind.

I was so turned on by her.  And I was so turned on by what I felt was an extreme form of financial domination that she represented in my fevered mind.  I just saw myself kneeling before her and saying, “Miss, if you tell me to buy these paintings I will do it.  Please tell me to do what you want me to do.”

In the end, our flirtation became real.  And of course, I knew that she wanted me as a client.  I had lost rational resistance.  She picked up on it.

“I think you should buy this,” she said.  Magic words.  It was easy to talk to her.  I told her about my forays into the world as a dominatrix.  She was fascinated by it.

“I don’t understand being submissive.  I could never be submissive.”  Such music to my ears.

“I’m good at being a domme because I am submissive too.  I love to obey, but it only happens in relation to certain people.”

“Interesting.”

“I’ll be your client.”  She smiled.

Later, we talked about how hard it was to get a decent assistant.  She complained about the one she had had.

“I’m not doing anything else,” I said, “and I’m really good at following instructions…”

“Are you?”

“Yes.  Perhaps we could give it a try.”  Suddenly it is getting real.  There are a series of events coming up for her where she may “need my help.”

That’s a real taste of life.

I went to get my makeup done one evening before a party.  I ended up, completely by accident, with a top make-up artist.  As a measure of just how out-of-control I am, as she was doing my hair, and telling me about how she flies around the world and works at fashion shows, and on shoots, and mentioned that she comes to my city a few times a year.

“Do you need a slave?” I asked.  “Because I would be your slave.  I don’t know anything about makeup, but if you just need someone to do whatever she’s told, I’d love to support you during Fashion Week.”  I think that a rational person would think such a statement is insane.  And as the words came out of my mouth I thought it sounded insane.  Only she said, ‘yes’ and gave me her number.

“I don’t need anything other than a slave.  If you’re serious, I’m serious.”

“Oh my God, really.”

“Yeah, really.  Be prepared to work your ass off.”

“Yes, please.”

She turned to her friend working at the mirror next to us, “I just got a slave for Fashion Week.”

“Awesome,” her colleague said as she brushed her client’s hair.  The woman having her hair brushed looked at me and had a half-hearted smile on her face…as if she was worried that I was upending tradition.

I’m not used to being so sexual.  But I like it.  And I like being so up front about my energy and that I like to be bubbly, and that I like to be dominated.

The funny thing is, the more I live this way, the more out I am in this way, the more that women I find attractive come in for the kill.  And there is nothing more luscious than a woman who knows what she wants and makes me feel like prey.